The Circle
by Gaara's Little Girl
Summary: Old friends bring new beginnings... and memories. Lots of memories. When an unexpected visitor arrives, Cinna will discover just how much he's kept hidden over the years. Cineca. Oneshot, songfic, AU, and a bit OOC.


**Author's Note:**** Hello there! So, this is my very first Hunger Games Fanfic! This idea actually came to me first as a dream, and then started to take a more coherent shape the more I listened to my iPod. The song is Adam Lambert's 'The Circle'. Please please PLEASE read and review and let me know what you think? Thank you!**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Hunger Games, or The Circle, just the story concept (which is actually QUITE depressing... ah well c'est la vie...)**

_The Circle_

_A Hunger Games Fanfiction_

The pins were cold, and the taste of raw metal filled Cinna's mouth as he clutched them between his teeth. His hands flew across the dark red fabric spread out across his desk, his eyes concentrated on the scissors and measuring tape as they worked their way across his canvas while his mind drifted, arranging and re-arranging designs and layouts while his fingers did their work. He hummed to himself, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

An old song played from his CD player. Compact Disks themselves had gone out of style and disappeared after the war, but he's stumbled upon one or two, as well as a chipped, but still working player on one of his many trips to the local antique shop. The disk was scratched, and the player was filled with static and often skipped tracks, but he still loved listening to the ancient music. The song he was humming along to, as far as he could tell, was The Circle. It was his favorite track on the disk, and nothing put him in a creative mood more than a good song.

Cinna stood back, observing his handiwork so far. The dress was coming along nicely. The crimson fabric was starting to take shape into a sleek work of art. He smiled, removed a pin from his mouth, and pinned a strip of fabric up, so the dress had one shoulder-strap, and the rest of the cloth fell like a waterfall down the side.

'_Still missing something,'_ he thought, running his fingers over the cloth. _'But what?'_

A sudden knock on the door snapped him away from his thoughts. Cinna looked up, slightly startled, and glanced through the door to his study, into the front hall. The knock came again, though softer this time. Cinna frowned. He hadn't been expecting anyone.

"Just a minute!" he called, spitting the pins onto the desk and straightening his shirt. He left his study, crossed through the living room, and opened the front door, running a dark-brown hand through his black hair.

"Hi, can I help you-…" he started to ask, but words failed him completely as he caught sight of the figure standing on his doorstep. Cinna felt the breath catch in his throat, and his heart nearly stopped. He barely managed to catch himself on the door frame, steadying himself as his eyes were met with a pair of misty blue-grey ones.

"Seneca," he breathed, a hint of both alarm and surprise in his voice. The Head Gamemaker simply smiled at him.

"Hello Cinna. It's been a while."

_**You turn just to spite me…**_

Cinna was still frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But how could he speak when he could barely breathe? Could barely think?

Seneca Crane quirked an eyebrow at the stylist, his blue-grey eyes etched with something akin to concern. But his voice (_'Just as smooth and cold as ever,' _Cinna thought,) held no fragment or lingering trace of emotion, other than amusement when he spoke next.

"So, can I come in, or shall we stand here in the doorway?" Seneca asked, smirking. "I mean, as lovely a day as it is, I'm sure you'd rather have this conversation behind closed doors."

_**You run where I cannot see…**_

"I was never one to keep anything hidden. I believe that was your department," Cinna snapped. The anger in his voice surprised him, and he quickly looked away. Seneca must have been surprised too, because the instant the words left Cinna's mouth, all the arrogance and confidence seemed to just melt away. For a second, Cinna saw a familiar face, the unsure young man he used to know, hesitant and struggling to maintain his composure. For the first time in years, Seneca bit his lip.

"I… Sorry," he said, his bewilderment coloring his voice as he took a small step away from the other man. "Maybe I should just go."

Seneca turned on his heel, and quickly walked away, heading back towards the street. Cinna watched him, slightly torn.

_**You walk all over me…But you won't.**_

"Seneca, wait!" he called out.

_**You won't.**_

"God damn you," he muttered, under his breath as he saw the dark-haired man turn back to look at him. Cinna rolled his eyes and pushed the door to his home open wider, motioning for Seneca to follow him, which he did.

_**You know that you'll never be…**_

Seneca looked around the house, his eyes scanning the simple, black furniture and the pale-blue walls with their gold moldings. There were a few pictures hanging on the wall, all of them in black and white; Cinna with Katniss, the prep team and Portia, Haymitch, Effie, Peeta and Katniss all grouped together. Everything was elegant in its simplicity, which distracted from the fact that the house was only one level with four rooms, all connected by the living room. Seneca smiled.

"So, this is where you've been hiding," he teased. "I'm surprised I couldn't find you earlier."

"That's half the reason I bought the place," Cinna said wryly. And then, realizing how bitter and childish he was being, he quickly added, "You know how I've always liked my privacy."

"Yes, you did," Seneca nodded. "I guess some things never change."

"Guess not," Cinna whispered, looking down at the white-carpeted floor. The two were silent for several minutes, unsure of what to do or say.

_**You show all your pleasantries…**_

"I'm going to make some tea!" Cinna blurted suddenly. Seneca raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him and Cinna blushed a little.

"I… I'm going to make tea," he said, a little softer. "Do you want some?"

"That would be great, yeah… Thank you," Seneca said, suppressing a small smile. Cinna turned away from him quickly.

"Good. Wait here," he said, and left the room.

_**You'd love to incite me, but you won't.**_

His hands shook violently as he set the tea-kettle on the stove. Cinna swallowed hard, closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, but his mind was racing and refused to be calmed. He nearly burned himself twice, and had to pull away from the stove, turning instead to grab tea-cups from the cupboard.

'_What is he doing here? He shouldn't be here!'_ his brain screamed. _'We were done with this! Wasn't all of this put to rest? Put behind us like everything else? Why is he here?'_

"You're shaking."

_**No you won't.**_

Cinna shrieked and dropped the cups, which smashed against the hardwood floor of the kitchen. He whirled around to see Seneca standing in the doorway, watching him.

"I thought you were going to wait in the living room?" Cinna said. Seneca offered him a smile.

"You know I could never stay out of the kitchen," he said, bending over to pick up the fragmented pieces of china. Cinna knelt down as well, avoiding Seneca's eyes, knowing that if he met them, he'd be forced to respond, and talking was the one thing he found himself unable to do.

_**Every time I hear the sound of footsteps walking up to my door,**_

They picked up the remains of the cups in silence, and Cinna threw them away, unable to look his guest directly in the eyes.

"Thank you," he forced out. Seneca only nodded. Cinna grabbed two more cups, mentally noting that he'd have to somehow replace the ones he's just lost, and poured out the tea. Seneca just stood by silently, watching him. Without warning, Cinna slammed his hands down on the counter, his back still to Seneca.

"I just didn't think you'd show up again, okay?" he said, his voice strained as his shoulders shook. "I didn't think we'd be seeing each other again."

"I know."

_**I turn around and I don't see your face in mine anymore**_

"I waited," Cinna said, turning to face the Gamemaker. "I kept thinking you'd show up, and you'd be there and then everything would be alright again. I kept praying that you'd see the light, and we could go back to having everything the way it used to be, and you'd quit, and… a-and you never came."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"You know what I mean. It's too late."

There was another long silence. Then…

"What happened to us Seneca?" Cinna whispered. "We used to be one in the same…"

"Cut from the same cloth," Seneca answered. "But now we've just-"

"Grown apart," they said together. Cinna felt a sharp pain in his chest.

_**The circle is now complete,**_

'_How long has it been since we've finished each other's sentences?'_ he wondered, turning away quickly, so that Seneca wouldn't notice the tears brimming at the corner of his eyes. He handed the other man a cup of tea, which Seneca accepted with a nod. Their fingers brushed for an instant, and Cinna looked up to find himself staring into the Gamemaker's misty blue-grey eyes.

"I've missed you," Seneca murmured. Cinna's heart skipped a beat, and another blush flooded his cheeks. He lowered his eyes.

"I've missed you too."

_**The loser admits defeat.**_

Seneca's hand moved to cover Cinna's. They stood like that for about a minute, with Cinna's dark brown hand pressed gently between the steaming cup of tea and Seneca's firm, pale one.

_**It's taken us by surprise**_

Slowly, the stylist pulled away, still trembling slightly. Seneca gripped the cup a bit tighter, closing the gap that Cinna's hand had left, as though it had never existed in the first place.

_**No one will realize.**_

"C-come on," Cinna stammered, taking his own cup of tea. "I'm sure you're tired… let's sit down, shall we?"

He led Seneca back to the living room, and sat down on the couch. To his irritation, Seneca chose the seat right beside him. When Cinna tried glaring at him, Seneca shot him an easy-going smile, and he knew he had lost the battle.

'_He always does that… Damn you and your charms,'_ Cinna thought, suppressing a smile of his own. He quickly pulled himself together, and gave Seneca what he hoped was an indifferent look.

"So… What are you doing here?"

"I wanted-… no, I _needed_ to see you again," Seneca said softly. Cinna was slightly taken aback by the man's candidness, and had a hard time keeping a straight face.

"You 'needed' to see me again? Six years go by, without a word or a glance, and all of a sudden you 'need to see me'?" he asked. It was hard to keep the bitter edge out of his voice, but even harder to keep away the hurt.

"Why?"

"Because I want you."

_**You want what you can't possess**_

The words caught Cinna so off guard he could do nothing more than stare at Seneca in shock.

"I… wh-what?" he choked out. Seneca moved a bit closer to him, and Cinna could feel the heat radiating off of his body in waves. How long had it been since he'd been this close to someone?

'_Too long,'_ he thought, trying to stop yet another blush from spreading across his cheeks.

"Oh come on Cinna," Seneca said, cocking his head to one side. "You can't say you don't miss it?"

"What, us? No," Cinna said, a little too quickly.

"Oh? What about _Gamemaking_? Do you miss that?"

_**You'd love for me to confess**_

Cinna felt his heart actually stop for a moment. Seneca was _much_ too close to him now… He couldn't think straight. Butterflies exploded in his chest and stomach, and he fumbled to find his voice.

"N-no. Not in the slightest," he said, cursing himself for stuttering.

"No?"

"I miss it less than I miss you," Cinna blurted. He winced, wishing he could take the words back, but there they were, out in the open and irretrievable. Seneca only smirked.

"Oh really? I think you do," he said, "I think you miss it quite a bit. You always had a talent for it, don't deny that you did. No one made mutts quite like you, Cinna. You're gifted that way, I suppose."

"It's not a gift, it's a curse," Cinna spat, angrily. He felt as if his insides were curdling; turning black and shriveling into nothingness as years of guilt and self-hatred flooded back to him. He gritted his teeth and looked away from the man across from him.

'_No,'_ he thought angrily. _'No. You're better than this Cinna. You've paid for your mistakes. That's not you anymore.'_

But that did nothing to stop his heart from hurting.

Seneca must have noticed the change in Cinna's demeanor, because he placed a hand gently on Cinna's shoulder. Cinna pulled away, but the fight had gone out of him, and he sat there, staring into his cup of tea, thinking back on the years.

"Cinna?"

"I told you I was done," the stylist said quietly. "I don't want anything to do with you or your little games. I told you that after-… Look, Seneca, I don't know why you're here, but if you're asking me to come back and be your designer again, the answer is no. You did just fine with the arena and Cornucopia layouts last year, and I'm sure you'll have another _brilliant_ set up for the Quarter Quell. Don't ask me to do anything more for you, I'm done. I gave you my all once, and that's a mistake I'm not going to make again. I don't make mutts anymore, I make clothing. So unless you want me to fix up your tacky excuse of a wardrobe, then leave. I'm finished with you."

"Cinna, we have barely even begun," Seneca said, his eyes locking onto Cinna's. "I told you why I'm here. I want you, not your designs. Look I-… I'm sorry. I want to fix this-"

"You've had six years to fix it, and you did nothing! Instead you sat back and you played your damn Hunger Games! If I'd ever meant anything to you-"

"You meant everything to me!" Seneca shouted. Cinna fell silent, stunned by the man's sudden burst of emotion. Seneca gave him a pleading look.

"Why the hell do you think I'm here? I fucked up. I understand that now. I'm here, aren't I? I'm making an effort, the way I never did back then. We've grown up now, both of us, and I'll be damned if we let go of everything we could have shared. Cinna, I… I need you back in my life. I've been missing you like crazy. I made mistakes in the past, and maybe I didn't own up to them back then, but I'm owning up to them now. I've made my mark. I don't have to strive to be the best Gamemaker in history anymore, because I'm already there-"

_**You said that you were the best**_

"The best?" Cinna laughed. "Please, you were potentially the least organized person on the planet before I met you! The only reason you ever got your games together was because of me! You were the figure head for most of it, I think I'm the only person in the Control Center who ever did any actual work. You might have come up with the ideas, but I'm the one who made them a reality, you were nothing without me."

"Exactly," Seneca said. He gently placed one hand on Cinna's knee, and smiled at him. "I _am_ nothing without you. We make a good team."

_**But you're not. No, you're not.**_

Cinna stiffened and quickly pulled away from Seneca, standing and crossing the room. Seneca rose as well, his expression pained.

"Cinna-"

"Sen,"

At the sound of his old pet-name, Seneca stopped, and Cinna let out a small whimper.

_**Turn the spinning wheel and turn me out to where there's nothing at all**_

"I-I…. Y-you can't do this to me… p-please," Cinna begged, still not facing him. "I waited _years_ for you. But you had your Games. I wasn't important to you, you made that clear. You needed me for the Games, not because you ever actually cared about me!"

"Cinna, that's not true! That's not true at all!" Seneca said, moving over to him. "You meant more to me than anything… you still do."

"Not work," Cinna said coldly. Seneca placed a hand on Cinna's shoulder, who flinched and looked away.

"Cinna…"

_**Slipping through my fingers, losing grip, and I can still hear you fall**_

The whisper of his name sent shivers down Cinna's spine. Before he could respond, or react, Seneca had turned him around, and pressed his lips hard against his own.

_**The circle is now complete,**_

The kiss was like a shot of electricity straight through his blood. All the feelings that had lain cold and dormant inside of him for so many years burst into life again, leaving him feeling light-headed and giddy. And all he wanted was the kiss, and all that existed was the kiss… Cinna and Seneca, as it had always been. As Sen, his Sen, had promised it always would be.

_**The loser admits defeat.**_

And then he remembered the hurt.

He remembered the lonely hours sitting alone at the window, watching the people, like ants, drifting along the street below him.

He remembered watching Seneca stumble home every night, liquor on his breath.

Remembered begging him to leave the Capitol and the Hunger Games behind. To run away together, and forget what they had done… the children they had sent to their deaths.

And the fights. Each night worse than the one before it. Screaming, cursing, hitting, and then crying themselves to sleep.

And then one day, it had all blown up at work. Seneca had requested a new mutt, and Cinna had lost it completely. He would not, he exclaimed, create one more vehicle of death to tear apart innocent children, and that if Seneca expected him to just lay down and take such orders, he had another thing coming. They had started screaming at each other, things that should never have been mentioned in such a public place. It ended when Seneca slapped Cinna to the ground. Nobody knew whether the strike was intended, or accidental, but Cinna had not waited to find out. He left, not stopping as Seneca had called out to him. And he kept going, stopping only briefly at the apartment they had shared to pack his things, preparing to leave the Capitol forever. But he did not leave. He found a hotel, and then a small home of his own, in a tucked-away section of the city where Seneca rarely visited. And he had stayed there, never truly happy, but calm and centered in his newfound passion… Until the day Seneca Crane re-appeared on his doorstep, _needing_ to see him.

Cinna pulled away, breaking the kiss.

"Th-that didn't mean anything!" he said, much too quickly. Seneca said nothing. Cinna stepped away from him, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.

"I mean it! It meant nothing! I don't-… DAMNIT SEN! Stop looking at me like that!"

_**Stop reading between the lines**_

Seneca reached out and brushed away Cinna's tears with his thumb. A shiver ran through Cinna's body when Seneca touched him, and his entire being ached, desperate for more.

"Cinna, please," Seneca whispered. "I'm sorry…"

He pulled the stylist close, and held him against his chest. And this time, Cinna did not pull away.

_**No one will realize**_

Cinna buried his face in Seneca's firm, warm chest.

'_I missed this,'_ he realized. _'I've missed this so much… I missed him…'_

Tears continued to roll down his cheeks, and he felt Seneca begin to run his fingers through his hair. For some reason he couldn't explain, that just upset him more. Cinna pulled away from Seneca, glaring up at the Gamemaker.

"St-stop that!" he hiccupped. "Stop. I-I'm not letting you do this to me again!"

Seneca reached out to touch his cheek, about to say something, but Cinna slapped his hand away.

"N-no! Just because I've missed you, doesn't mean you can just come back into my life!" he shouted, tears streaming down his face.

"Y-you can't just walk in here, and make me love you again! Y-you can't! I-I won't let you-"

Seneca wrapped his arms around the sobbing man and kissed him. Cinna struggled for a moment, still crying, but slowly, very slowly, the tears stopped, and he melted into Seneca's arms.

_**The circle is now complete**_

Cinna felt Seneca lifting him gently, and he wrapped his arms around the other man's neck. Seneca kept his lips on Cinna's, continuing to kiss him gently as he carried him back over to the couch.

The fell together onto the soft black pillows, and Cinna pulled Seneca closer, deepening the kiss.

_**The circle is now complete**_

The kiss grew more and more passionate, as the two lovers re-entwined. There was a heat that neither of them had experienced for years, but both had craved desperately. The touch of one drove the other to the brink, as hands re-traced old curves and contours, and fingers trailed patterns across skin.

Seneca's lips moved down onto Cinna's neck, and Cinna couldn't help but arch his back, a small moan escaping his lips.

"Sen…"

_**The circle**_

A steady rhythm, like the beating of a heart.

Hands flying over the body like a canvas.

A whimper.

A soft cry.

"I love you,"

"I love you,"

_**The circle**_

Hours later, they still lay together, Seneca's arms wrapped tightly around Cinna's waist. Cinna shivered in the slight cold, and Seneca pulled him closer, pressing his lips against his forehead. Cinna smiled.

They lay there in silence, drinking each other in. They watched the moon rise through the curtains, and listened to the people going by, laughing and talking. And then the noise faded away. The sun rose, peaking over the buildings and sending rays of pinkish-orange light through the windows in thin, delicate beams.

It was quiet. And then, someone spoke, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Stay with me?" he begged softly.

"Always."

They kissed.

_**Turn the spinning wheel and turn me out to where there's nothing at all**_


End file.
